


His Business To Know

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Homeland
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Hand Jobs, Lust, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, Porn, Secret Sex, Shameless Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, porn no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 03:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20614136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: "If she were my agent, I'd know. I'd know everything about her, down to the very last detail. When to scold, when to forgive, when to laugh at her jokes. . ." Saul, S5,E12, A False Glimmer. . .This fic was inspired by this quote, and the insight it gave me into how Saul sees his relationship with and management of Carrie, although this little story could take place at any point throughout the series (at least it could in my head cannon).OR--  the one where Saul knows how to help Carrie relax and get back on track at work.





	His Business To Know

What she wants or what she needs, she doesn’t even really know, but he does. 

He knows this:

She doesn’t want it so much as she needs it. 

He makes it his business to know.

In the meeting, she gets out of line. Way out of line. “My office. Now,” he growls at her in the hallway. She stomps off, petulant as ever and he strides after her. 

She stands by the window, panting with anger, frustration, confusion. He watches her suffer. He knows he has the power to take her suffering away, to relieve her anguish. 

Part of his job is knowing how to handle this rare, spectacular creature that paces before him. He gages her energy and reads the cues. When to distance. When to draw near. Had he been given a manual on how to manage her, he’d still know better just by his intrinsic nature. 

Hypothetically, he can talk her down, offer her a drink, take her for a walk. These are all possibilities. . . 

But he has a play. 

He knows a way. 

He knows how to bring her to bear swiftly, productively, pleasurably. 

Without a word he approaches her from behind. She does not turn to meet him, but stares out the window. Reaching up, he closes the blinds tight, and the room darkens. Her breath does not slow, yet there seems a relief ripples through her muscles, a melting of sorts. He hasn’t touched her yet but he feels it. 

He makes it his business to feel all she feels. He sucks out the thrill and despair that thrums in her marrow and profiles all the complexities on his palate. 

When his breath meets her flesh, he can feel her feel it. Still, she does not turn. Her shoulders slow and she catches her breath. 

He slides his hand over her waist and then under her shirt. Something about the velvety feel of her belly makes him imagine a lion. She’s wild and could attack him, yet she’s also irresistible to his fingertips. He presses his palm into her soft, golden skin to feel the firmer muscle beneath. He cups her flesh in his hand. 

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” she says. Her voice is dry, as if she pretends she isn’t even there. Even as she says it, she leans back against him, her head on his chest. 

“Shhh,” he admonishes. He slips his hand down into the waistband of her pants. “We aren’t doing anything.” He nuzzles her ear, then nips it as he breaches the perimeter of her underpants. His fingers fondle the crest of her pubic hair. She rolls her head against him. “Just my hand. Yes?” He murmurs. She nods. “I need to hear you say it, Carrie.” He teases one finger down into her heated cleft. “Say yes,” he whispers, words muffled against her neck.

“Yes,” she says. She arches toward his fingers, clearly wanting him to delve deeper, but he pauses. She knows for what he waits, and she offers it to him without hesitation. “Please,” she gasps out. 

His finger slides down easily enough. She is already slick and ready, as he knew she would be. He finds the hardened nub of her clit and circles it with a precise pressure. “Yes?” He murmurs as he kisses her neck. 

“Mmmmhh,” she responds. “Y-y-yeah, please.” 

Judging by her heat and wetness, her first orgasm will be swift, he knows. He draws it out as long as possible, brings her up to the edge and then stops to make her breath hitch, to make her beg. She turns her face up to his, but he does not kiss her. Instead, he buries his face in her neck and bites the tendon where he knows she will respond most viscerally. She bucks against him and groans loudly. “Hush,” he commands. He brings his other hand to cover her lips. She licks his fingers, but does not bite as he silences her. “Can’t let the others hear. Now you going to be quiet? You want a little more?” 

She whimpers and nods, meek and wanton. He loves her like this, suppliant, succulent. He fondles the small, firm shaft next to her clit, then circles her bud several times. He knows she does not care for digital penetration, but he sinks his middle and index finger deep inside her, just for a moment, to extract some of her delicious arousal, to bring it back up to rub over her sensitive clit. Not that she needs more lubrication; she’s already soaking wet. He’s selfish for just a little touch of her silky inner walls, and she does not complain. 

Within a few more moments, he feels her shudder. He feels her knees buckle and she goes limp in his embrace as her first climax consumes her. He supports her body with his, and presses his palm hard against her mound to ease her down before he starts in again. 

“No more, no more,” she heaves against his hand as he begins to bring her back up. He moves his left hand from her mouth to her throat. His fingers feel thick and huge against her delicate cartilage. “No more, I’m done.” 

“Oh,” he chuckles and runs his tongue along her jaw. His hand passes over her collar bones and down toward her breasts. “We both know you’re not done yet.”

Because he presses against her, he’s hard. It would be impossible for her to not feel his arousal against her backside. She likes it; he knows she does. That he's half mad with desire for her is something she savors. She relishes her effect on him, lords her power and control over him. She wiggles her ass against his erection and he bites his bottom lip hard. She’s being fresh. He could punish her for such insolence, but it feels so damn good when her firm ass brushes over his prick. Though his eyes are closed, he swears he can feel her smile. He mashes his face into her hair to stifle the groan rising in his throat. He could come now. He could flood his boxers, just like this, standing here, fully clothed with his hand down her pants and her ass rubbing on him. But he won’t. 

He makes it his business to maintain a firm upper hand, to maintain control even as he allows her the illusion that she has some agency. So he lets her undulate against him. He grants her permission to grasp his hand and use it the way she wants. And as she rubs his fingers fast and hard on herself, she rubs her ass on him. “Fuck, Carrie, fuck,” he moans. He doesn’t want to come. He doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but as he pinches her nipple a current of electric desire flashes up and down his spine. He feels her start to come again, and this time, she grabs his wrist and shoves his fingers inside of her so he can feel the tight heat of her orgasm throb around him. She knows exactly what she does. It is an ecstatic torture that breaks him instantly. 

Although he tries to shift his hips away from her relentless friction, he is too late. He falls into her and presses her against the cool glass of the window as his seed erupts in a savage release. It seems he takes a ridiculously long time to finish his orgasm as the hot spurts come in waves of almost crippling pleasure. She utters a throaty giggle, as he strokes her arms and nuzzles her face. He lets her think she’s turned the tables. Hell, maybe she has. 

But not for long.

He catches his breath, removes his hand from her pants and pushes away from her. Mercifully, his receptionist hung his fresh dry cleaning on the back of his door that morning and he glances at it with a sigh. 

“What? No more?” Carrie asks with a lusty grin. She turns and he sees her eyes are black with their recent passion. 

“You’ve had enough,” he says mildly with a little smile. “Straighten yourself up and get back out there. I need to change.” 

“Yeah, you do,” she says. She steps up to him and puts her hands on his shoulders, pops up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he murmurs against her lips. “And Carrie, don’t you ever pull that fucking shit again or so help me-“ 

“Fine. Whatever,” she huffs as she tucks her shirt in and smooths back her hair. She walks to the door. 

“We good here?” Saul asks. She nods back at him with a roll of her eyes and a small smirk. He already knows they're good. He doesn't really need to even ask the question. He can tell just by the steadiness of her breath and the calm that had claimed her body. He's drafted the rules of their game and he knows every play by heart. 

Or so he likes to think.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware no one really ships these two, but imo they have such a complex and volatile dynamic and I am obsessed with playing with it. . . I also have a huge, bizarre crush on Mandy Patinkin and think it is a shame he's not thought of as a dynamic male lead like the other younger, traditionally "prettier" actors in the series. Anyhow, I welcome all comments and thank you for reading! xo


End file.
